


someone to stay

by NoShipsLikePartnerships



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Movie: Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018), Recovery, nothing bad happens to the cat I promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-25 00:06:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22026712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoShipsLikePartnerships/pseuds/NoShipsLikePartnerships
Summary: “Come on, look at that little face,” Newt says, holding the cat up closer. “I’ll take care of her, you won’t even have to do anything at all, I promise. Please?”He often still hesitates to ask for things, as if he believes that he doesn’t deserve them. There isn’t any hesitation now, though, which just shows how much he wants this. How can Hermann refuse? A pet is certainly a commitment, but surely the two of them together can handle the responsibility.“Well, then,” Hermann finally says, “I suppose we’re cat owners now.”(Or, a year into Newt's recovery, he and Hermann adopt a cat.)
Relationships: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Comments: 18
Kudos: 71





	someone to stay

**Author's Note:**

> I was originally hoping to get this done around the one-year anniversary of Uprising, but obviously that did not work out. I also didn't expect 'Newt and Hermann adopt a cat' to turn into this long of a fic lol, but I guess I should be used to this by now.
> 
> Tragically, I am allergic to cats, so most of my experiences with them have been interactions with other people's pets. That being said, I hope this fictional cat still comes off as being realistic!
> 
> Title from "Someone to Stay" by Vancouver Sleep Clinic.

The leaves are beginning to change color, Hermann observes, as he and Newt make their way down the street.

Now that the weather is a bit milder, and the sun sets later, they’ve gotten into the habit of going out for walks after dinner. They’re at the tail-end of August, when it’s still pleasantly warm during the day, enough so that they often need to open a window, or the balcony door, to cool off (the air-conditioning has been on the blink lately), but starts to get brisk in the evening. It’s always been Hermann’s favourite time of the year.

Newt had been a bit reluctant about the walks at first, still hesitant to leave the apartment too often, but willing to try anyway. They'd started out with a shorter route, the walks becoming longer as Newt became more comfortable straying farther from home. He now looks forward to them every night.

It's nice, to see him excited about things again.

Next month will be a little over a year since their reunion, since the Precursors were driven out of Newt's mind, and a little less than that since they moved into their apartment, leaving the PPDC and that part of their lives behind them. Since then, they’ve been enjoying the time to themselves, and enjoying each other, in a way that they never could before, making up for those lost years as best they can.

Things aren't always easy, of course, nor does Hermann expect them to be. But they're better, and that’s really all that he could have hoped for.

He stops walking when he realizes that Newt is no longer beside him, and turns to see him crouched by the side of the road, petting what appears to be a stray cat. Hermann makes a disapproving sound. "Oh, Newton, don't. You don’t know where it’s been, it could have some kind of disease.”

“I dunno,” Newt says, tilting his head, “looks too healthy to be a stray. And it isn’t afraid of us, either.”

“So then it belongs to someone, just leave it be.”

Newt looks around. “There aren’t a lot houses there, though.” The area is part of a new housing development, and while there are a few stores and restaurants a couple of blocks away, the rest is still mostly empty fields. He looks back down at the ginger cat. “Where did you come from, huh?”

The cat meows, but otherwise doesn’t offer an answer. It isn’t wearing a collar, or any other sort of identification that they can see.

“I’m sure it will find its way home,” Hermann assures him. “As should we, it’s getting late.” He turns to go, but Newt still doesn’t follow. Looking between Hermann and the cat, Newt chews his lower lip in thought. Then he picks up the cat and hurries to catch up. “Newton...”

“What?” Newt says. “Like you said, it’s getting late. It’s gonna be dark soon and there are cars around here, it’s _dangerous_.”

“So what do you suggest?” Hermann asks. Newt shrugs, holding the cat protectively against his chest. It doesn’t object to this, so he’s likely correct about it not being a stray. “We are not bringing a stranger’s cat home with us.”

“Maybe we can take it to a shelter or something? Or a vet?”

Hermann knows that he isn’t going to win this one, and sighs in defeat. “Fine.”

They walk the rest of the way back to their apartment building, and their car. The cat becomes slightly agitated once it realizes what’s happening, and Newt begins stroking its fur and speaking softly to it, trying to calm it down. “I don’t think cats like cars, do they?”

“I honestly wouldn’t know.” Hermann’s never had a cat, and has never been particularly interested in having one, either. It’s not that he dislikes them, he’s just never really seen himself as a ‘cat person’ or as someone who'd typically seek animal companionship. When he was very young, he remembers his family having a dog, but only for a few weeks. It wasn’t long before his father got tired of having the animal around the house, and got rid of it. Hermann never found out what actually happened to the dog, though he likes to think it ended up in a better home. He never had a pet again after that.

Hermann drives, while Newt holds on to the squirming cat and looks up the address of the nearest veterinary clinic on his phone. There’s only one nearby that’s still open at this hour, andNewt reads the directions out loud as they go.

Even without an appointment, they don't have to wait long—the clinic is fairly empty, considering the time. The vet who greets them is a short, bespectacled woman, whose name tag reads 'Dr. Joyce', although Hermann isn't sure if it's her first or last name. Dr. Joyce examines the cat, who turns out to be female and roughly a year old, and confirms that she is indeed chipped. Pulling up the cat's file, the vet is able to find the contact information for the owner and moves over to her desk to try and call them. However, after several minutes and what appears to be a heated conversation, she slams down the phone in frustration. Both Newt and the cat jump at the sound.

“Sorry,” she sighs, removing her glasses and pinching the bridge of her nose.

“I take it that things didn’t go well?” Hermann asks, putting a comforting hand on Newt's shoulder. “Were you not able to find the owners?”

“Oh, I found them,” Dr. Joyce responds dryly, putting her glasses back on. “Turns out they already knew about the cat. They moved away a couple of weeks ago, and apparently decided they didn't have room for her anymore.”

“You mean... they left her behind?” Newt asks, visibly upset. “On _purpose_?”

Dr. Joyce nods with a heavy sigh. “Unfortunately, it’s more common than you might think. A lot of people don’t take their pets with them when they move, maybe because their new place doesn’t allow animals, or they just don’t have enough space for them, stuff like that. But instead of bringing them here or to a shelter, they just abandon them outside somewhere.”

Hermann frowns. “That’s awful.”

“They didn’t want her anymore,” Newt says, very quietly, reaching down to pet the cat. She purrs contentedly, and Hermann wonders, with an ache in his chest, whether she understands on some level the circumstances that have brought her here.

“What will happen to her now?” he asks.

“Well," Dr. Joyce says, "we can keep her here for the night, then send her to a shelter, see if maybe someone will adopt her.”

“And if no one does?”

The vet purses her lips, reluctant to reply, and Hermann’s heart sinks at the implication.

“We’ll take her,” Newt says immediately, and scoops the cat into his arms.

“Newton, we can’t just—”

“Come on, look at that little face,” Newt says, holding the cat up closer. “I’ll take care of her, you won’t even have to do anything at all, I promise. Please?”

He often still hesitates to ask for things, as if he believes that he doesn’t deserve them. There isn’t any hesitation now, though, which just shows how much he wants this. How can Hermann refuse? A pet is certainly a commitment, but surely the two of them together can handle the responsibility.

“Well, then,” Hermann finally says, “I suppose we’re cat owners now.”

Newt’s eyes light up. “Really?” Hermann nods, and Newt gives him a peck on the cheek. “Thanks, you’re the best!”

This could end up being a good thing, Hermann thinks. The school semester will be starting soon, so he’ll be going back to work, and this way, Newt won’t be alone during the day. He'll have someone to take care of, besides himself. Someone to keep him company. As much as Newt has been doing better, Hermann still worries about him. He can’t help it.

Other than being a little underweight, the cat is perfectly healthy and has already had her shots, as well as having been spayed. Hermann has a bit of a difficult time understanding how the previous owners could have done all this, _and_ had her chipped, and still elected to leave her behind.

“I take it she already has a name?” Hermann asks. The vet nods.

“Yeah, according to her file, it’s... Princess Buttercup.”

Newt makes a face. “That’s a terrible name.” He repeats it a few times, and the cat completely ignores him. “See? Even she knows it’s terrible. Don’t worry, sweetheart, we’ll come up with something much better for you.”

"So," Hermann says, "what's the adoption procedure, Dr. Joyce?"

"Oh, no need to be so formal. Please, just call me Joyce," she tells him, and Newt smiles faintly.

After filling out the required forms, Joyce gives them a list of things they’ll need to buy, and suggests some stores where they’ll be able to find them. Hermann thanks her for her assistance, as well as her time, and they head to the first store on the list. He’s glad that it’s a Friday night, at least, and the stores will be open later. Granted, this isn’t how he’d anticipated spending his evening, but they don’t have much of a choice. They can’t very well bring the cat home without these items.

A little bell over the door rings when they enter the store, and the cat looks up at the sound, intrigued. Newt grabs one of the shopping carts next to the entrance, while Hermann pulls the list out of his coat pocket.

“Always wanted a cat,” Newt says, as they walk down one of the aisles, the cat still in his arms. He'd briefly attempted to sit her in the shopping cart, but she wasn't having it. “My dad’s allergic so we couldn’t have one, but our neighbours’ cat always ended up in our backyard, which was the next best thing.”

Hermann examines the various bags of cat food on the shelves, trying to determine the difference between one and the other. “What about once you moved out?”

“No pets allowed in the dorms at school, or in the apartment I lived in while I was teaching,” Newt explains. “After that... well. You know.”

Hermann hums in agreement. The world as they knew it had changed forever, so they'd had other things on their minds, back then. Other priorities. Not to mention, being shuttled back and forth between Shatterdomes would not have been an ideal situation for a pet.

By the time they’re ready to pay, they’ve procured everything on the list, as well as more toys than any one cat likely needs. Newt’s going to spoil her rotten, Hermann can already tell. He doesn’t really mind, though, even if he does wince slightly as the cashier rings up the purchase. If it makes Newt happy, then Hermann is happy too.

It takes some coaxing, but Newt eventually manages to get the cat into the carrier. He hands it to Hermann, then loads everything else into the car. Hermann holds the carrier up and peers inside. The cat does not seem particularly pleased by this sudden turn of events, and meows in protest the rest of the way back to the apartment.

When they get home, Newt deposits the bags beside the door, and quickly gets to work setting up her things. Joyce had explained that it was better to have everything ready for the cat before letting her out into the apartment, to make her feel more at ease. Ideally, this would have been done before they'd even brought her home but, seeing as they hadn't exactly planned this, they'll have to improvise a little.

Once Newt is done, he takes the carrier from Hermann, sets it down in the middle of the living room, and opens it. After a few moments, the cat gingerly makes her way out into this unfamiliar territory, and sets off exploring. Even if she’s used to living with people, this place is still new to her, though she takes it better than Hermann was expecting. Perhaps the two weeks spent wandering outside have something to do with that. She may just be glad to be back indoors.

"She's probably hungry," Newt says suddenly. Hermann glances at the time. It's almost nine o'clock, but Newt's right—they've no idea when she might last have eaten. The food and water bowls sit on the floor in front of the kitchen counter, and Newt goes to fill them.

At the sound of food pellets being poured into the bowl, the cat comes running into the kitchen. She eats eagerly, but ends up leaving a little of the food behind. Joyce had mentioned that the cat might save some food for later out of habit from being outside, and not knowing when she'd next get to eat.

Newt must be thinking the same thing. He looks a bit sad as he crouches down to pet her. She rubs herself against his legs, purring loudly.

Hermann realizes that he hasn’t actually interacted with the cat yet. Newt’s been carrying her around like a baby almost the entire time, which is probably a habit Hermann should try to get him to break sooner rather than later. He leans down to properly make her acquaintance.

“Hello there,” he says softly. He reaches a hand out, which the cat sniffs cautiously, and then, apparently satisfied, she licks his fingers. Her tongue is slightly scratchy, but tickles, and Hermann finds himself absurdly pleased by this.

Newt grins widely at them both.

The first night, they leave the bedroom door open, and it isn’t long before the cat wanders in, curious. Clearly, she has a different sleep schedule than they do, but Hermann figures that she’ll eventually get bored and leave. Then she jumps up onto the bed. Hermann lets out a small “oof” as she lands directly on his chest, and tries to shoo her away. Unbothered, she leisurely strolls across him and onto Newt, and then hops back off the bed, running out of the room. Beside him, Newt giggles, the sound muffled by his pillow. Hermann is less amused, but can’t help smiling anyway at the ridiculousness of the situation.

The following night, they do close the door, but after a few minutes the cat begins meowing insistently on the other side, until they finally relent and let her in. This time, she makes herself comfortable between the two of them. Hermann isn’t sure about letting her sleep in the bed with them, but it couldn’t hurt for one night, at least.

Then one night turns into two, then three, and so on. However, after being awoken far too early by the cat’s tail in his face one morning, he decides they need to come to a better arrangement.

“She has a bed,” Hermann points out over breakfast, “quite a nice one, in fact, that we bought at the store.” It was not terribly cheap, either.

“She uses her bed.”

“During the _day_ , yes. Not at night.”

“She probably just likes sleeping near people,” Newt says. “She was alone for a long time, maybe... maybe it makes her feel safe.”

Hermann pauses, unsure if they’re still talking about the cat—it’s possible that Newt is projecting a little. He doesn’t like to sleep alone, either. Never has, but even less so, now.

Regardless, the situation simply cannot continue. Once classes start, Hermann's going to need to be able to get a full night’s sleep. He might have been able to function with much less than that back during the war, when there was no other choice, but those days are long behind him now.

“Okay, how about this?" Newt proposes. "She can sleep in our bed with us when she wants to, and if she wakes up too early—”

“ _When_ she wakes up too early,” Hermann corrects him, and Newt rolls his eyes.

“ _When_ she wakes up too early,” he repeats, “I can keep her company. I’ll probably be up anyway, it’ll be fine.” Unlike Hermann, Newt doesn’t sleep as late as he used to, so as far as compromises go, it isn’t a bad one.

“Very well,” Hermann agrees. Something else occurs to him, then, though he isn’t quite sure how to approach it. “There’s also the matter of, ah... privacy.”

"Pretty sure cats don't care about that."

“What about when,” Hermann clears his throat, “when I want you to myself?”

“Aw. You can share me.”

"You know what I mean."

Newt laughs. “Are you seriously jealous?”

“Don’t be absurd,” Hermann scoffs. He is _not_ jealous of the cat.

Newt shrugs. “I dunno, we can just leave the door open? Maybe she’ll get bored.” He grins. “Or maybe she’ll enjoy the show.”

Hermann blushes fiercely.“We are not letting her _watch_.”

“Okay, okay, fine," Newt says, holding his hands up in surrender. "We’ll close the door.”

It seems like a good idea, in theory. However, later that night when they try to put it into practice, it doesn't go as planned—after a few minutes of making out, there’s the sound of meowing at the door.

“Fuck,” Newt whispers.

“Yes, that _was_ the idea,” Hermann mutters.

“It’s fine, just ignore her.” Leaning down, Newt kisses him again, slow and steady, then works his way down, unbuttoning Hermann's shirt as he goes.

The continued meowing outside the door is distracting, to say the least, and doesn’t exactly lend itself to the mood they’re trying to create. Turning his head a fraction, Hermann can see the cat's paws reaching beneath the closed door. Newt follows his gaze, and lets out a snort at the sight. He rolls over and collapses next to Hermann on the bed, shaking with laughter, until tears form in the corners of his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he wheezes, “I _can’t_.”

Hermann hasn’t seen Newt laugh like this in quite a while, and can’t find it in himself to be too angry about the whole thing.

They’ll make it work, somehow.

When Hermann wakes the next morning, Newt is already up. Hermann finds him sitting in the kitchen, a plate of half-eaten Eggos abandoned on the counter behind him. He's staring out the window, one hand idly petting the cat cradled in his arms.

“Good morning, dear.”

“Hmm?” Newt replies absently. Hermann repeats himself, a bit louder, and Newt blinks, turning towards him. “Oh, hey. Sorry, I was just...” he waves a hand in the air, "thinking.”

“Anything you want to talk about?” Hermann asks.

“Nah.” Newt turns around to fully face him, and releases the cat, who runs off into the living room. “Here, let me make you some breakfast. Pancakes sound good?”

“You don’t have to do that.”

Newt smiles. “I want to.”

Recently, he’s gotten into cooking, something he’d never been that interested in before, and that neither of them had ever been particularly good at. The latter is still true, though what Newt lacks in skill, he makes up for in enthusiasm.

Hermann sets the table, and then sits, chin propped up with one hand, watching Newt work. With the radio playing softly in the background, he’s reminded a little of their time together back in the lab, and the thought makes him smile.

The cat wanders back into the kitchen, obviously smelling the food, and sniffs at the floor. Newt tends to be quite messy when he cooks, and it's very possible that he's dropped something she finds interesting. She ends up behind the counter, where Newt has set out all of the ingredients, so Hermann can't really see what she's up to.

Newt glances down at her. "Nooo, don't eat that..."

"What did she do?" Hermann asks, craning his neck to try and see for himself.

"Uh," Newt pauses. "Never mind. It's... it's fine. I think?"

They're probably going to have to look into what she can, and can't, eat. Rising, Hermann goes to put some food in her bowl, so that she leaves Newt, and the breakfast, alone.

The pancakes come out a bit burnt around the edges, and a little gooey in the middle, but end up tasting far better than they look.

Before they moved in, Hermann had purposefully chosen an apartment with two bedrooms, in case Newt had wanted his own space (he had not). They’ve been meaning to turn the extra room into a guest room, but haven’t gotten around to fixing it up yet, so in the meantime they're using it for storage. As such, it's an ideal place for the cat's litter box. They’ve set up the rest of her things in the living room—bed and scratching post in one corner, and a box for her toys in the other. However, most of the time, the toys are strewn about the floor, and Hermann keeps having to bat them aside with his cane to avoid tripping on them. Some of them make noise, which, early in the morning, is less than ideal. There's a particular squeaky one, a pink rubber mouse, that he is especially not fond of.

Newt’s currently entertaining her with a wand that has brightly colored feathers tied to the end of it, making it dance across the floor. She watches it intently for a few seconds, and then pounces. He then pulls it free, and up into the air, and the cat leaps up after it. It turns out that she can jump impressively high.

“It seems almost cruel,” Hermann muses, from his spot on the couch, “to tease her like that.”

“The toy is literally called a cat teaser,” Newt says. “And she’s having fun! It helps cats to hone their hunting instincts, it’s a good thing.”

“Yes, of course. Because she’ll so often have cause to hunt in the apartment.”

Newt rolls his eyes. "Look, it's good for her, okay?"

Aside from the sleeping arrangement, things have been going rather well. She's quite well-behaved, though they do need to keep shooing her off the coffee table (mostly it's Hermann that does the shooing, as Newt seems happy to let the cat do whatever she wants).

There is, however, still the issue of what to call her. They’ve gone through lists of names on various websites, looking for inspiration, but most of them are ridiculous-sounding cat puns, all of which Hermann has vetoed on principle.

"We could always just go with Princess," he suggests. "Or Buttercup."

"Boring," Newt proclaims, as the cat pounces again. “What about Sig? Or maybe Siggy?”

Hermann stares at him in confusion. “As in Sigmund Freud?”

“Ew, no. As in Sigourney Weaver.”

“We are not naming our cat Sigourney Weaver.”

“Okay, okay... Jonesy?”

“Perhaps something _not_ related to the movie Alien,” Hermann says carefully. “Or to aliens in general.” Newt’s smile falters slightly at that, but he recovers quickly before Hermann can say anything.

“Heh, yeah, that’s probably a good call.” He turns his attention back to the cat and peers down at her in thought for several long moments, before snapping his fingers. “I got it! Zelda.”

“Like Fitzgerald?”

“Dude, seriously?” Newt shakes his head. “No, like from the games. You know.” Hermann just stares blankly at him. “Since that little mark on her forehead kinda looks like a Z. It made me think of the princess.”

“The what?” The mark does look vaguely like a Z, if one were to turn their head and squint at it just the right way—to Hermann, it looks more like an M—but that’s about all he’s able to follow.

“She's—you know what, never mind, you were definitely not a video game person growing up, were you?”

“Games of any sort were generally frowned upon where I grew up,” Hermann answers wryly, “so, no.”

“Right,” Newt says, wincing, “sorry. Um. It’s from a game I used to be really into, the princess was named Zelda.”

“Zelda,” Hermann repeats, trying it out. Regardless of not being familiar with the reference, it sounds right. “I like it.”

Zelda takes to her new home, and her new family, fairly quickly, and they all settle into their new routine.

After classes start up, Hermann goes to work during the week, teaching at the local university, while Newt stays home with the cat. Mondays are cleaning days. Thursdays are laundry days. The days in between, Newt tries to find other ways to help out—he insists on contributing however he can, until he feels that he’s ready to start working again. _If_ he feels that he’s ready to start working again. Hermann’s made sure that Newt knows he’s perfectly fine with whatever Newt chooses to do, and that there’s no pressure or hurry to decide either way.

Occasionally, when Hermann ends up working late, he comes home to find them asleep on the couch together, Zelda usually curled up on Newt’s lap (if he’s sitting up) or on his stomach (if he’s lying down). The sight never fails to makes Hermann smile; the two of them are hardly ever apart. When she’s awake, either Newt plays with her, or she trails after him as he goes about his business, and when she sleeps (which she does quite often during the day), she's always close by. She may not officially be an emotional support animal, but her presence has been extremely beneficial—she has a gentle disposition and a calm temperament, and offers an unconditional love, free of judgement. It’s been a long time since Newt has been this relaxed, and Hermann is incredibly grateful that this cat wandered into their lives.

On this particular evening, Newt’s fallen asleep sitting up, his head tipped back against the back of the couch. Hermann quietly closes the apartment door, then comes up behind him and presses a kiss to his forehead. Newt stirs, blinking drowsily up at him. “Mm, hey babe,” he greets, and stretches slightly, careful not to disturb the cat. “What time is it?”

“Almost ten o’clock.”

“Saved you some leftovers, if you want.”

“Thank you darling, but I already ate at work. We can have them for lunch instead.” He only has one class tomorrow, which doesn't start until the afternoon, and then a faculty meeting after that.

Newt yawns. “M’kay.”

“Why don’t you go to bed, I’ll do the washing up,” Hermann offers. Whatever Newt prepared for dinner, it seems to have required an impressive number of pots and pans, all of which are still sitting in the sink.

“Nah, leave it,” Newt says, “I’ll do it in the morning.”

"Alright." Hermann turns to go, but Newt makes no move to get up. “Aren't you coming?

“Aw, I don’t want to wake her.”

“If you don’t, you’ll just end up spending the night on the couch and aggravating your back again.” It’s only started happening recently, but Newt is none too happy about this new development.

“Getting old sucks,” Newt mutters. He sighs and nudges the cat awake. She meows in annoyance as he lifts her off his lap, and wastes no time following them to their room.

Hermann's woken by the sound of wind and rain pounding against the windows and realizes, groggily, that there's a storm raging outside. They aren't uncommon for this time of year, but this one is much louder than usual. Beside him, he can hear Newt whimpering in his sleep, most likely having a nightmare—storms tend to trigger them, sometimes. Something about them, Newt once told him, brought to mind memories of the Precursors' home world. Hermann knows not to wake him, though it always hurts to see him this way. Still, he reaches over to lightly run his fingers through Newt's hair anyway. It seems to help, and Newt quiets a little.

There's a flash of lightning, and Hermann is startled to see two small glowing orbs floating over the foot of the bed. It takes him a moment to register that, no, they aren't floating—it's the cat, staring at him, her eyes briefly illuminated in the dark. According to Newt, she'd been anxious all day, and now Hermann understands why, vaguely remembering something about animals being able to sense storms coming.

A few seconds later, the lightning is followed by a crash of thunder. Newt wakes with a gasp, sitting bolt upright at the same time that the cat bolts off the bed and, from the sound of it, runs to hide underneath. Newt looks shaken, as much as Hermann can tell in the dark. He sits up and leans over to turn on the lamp on the bedside table. Newt flinches slightly at the sudden change from darkness to light, blinking and trying to get his bearings. One of his hands is tightly gripping the sheets, and Hermann covers it with his own, placing his other hand on Newt's back.

"You're safe," Hermann reminds him, "you're _home_."

Newt squeezes his eyes shut and takes a few deep breaths, nodding.

“Are you alright, dear?”

“Y-yeah,” he says, and Hermann can feel the tension beginning to leave Newt's body. He looks around the room. “Where's Zelda?”

"Under the bed, I think."

Newt withdraws from Hermann's grasp, and climbs off the bed, kneeling down to look underneath it. Hermann does the same thing on the other side. Sure enough, the cat is there, huddled as close to the wall as she can manage to get. She looks terribly frightened, the poor thing.

“Aw, it’s okay, sweetheart,” Newt tries to reassure her. He reaches out a hand, but she just shrinks back from him.

“Perhaps it’s best to leave her be,” Hermann suggests, straightening up, “until the storm has passed.”

Newt looks at him over the top of the bed, frowning. “I want her to know that she’s not alone.”

He's always been particularly kind when it come to animals, but there's more of a softness to it now. The kind that comes from going through something painful, and coming out the other side changed, that breeds compassion and the desire to keep others from hurting. It simultaneously breaks and warms Hermann's heart.

After quickly consulting his phone, Newt gets some of Zelda's toys, as well as some treats, in an attempt to distract her, speaking in a soothing voice the entire time.

The whole scene is disarmingly sweet.

Eventually, the storm subsides, and Zelda ventures back out from under the bed, and into Newt’s lap. He gently strokes her fur for a while, until she calms down, then carries her back up onto the bed with him. Hermann doesn’t protest this time, and moves to make room for her.

On Thursday, Hermann returns to find the apartment completely turned upside down, and for a moment fears that they’ve been robbed. He grips his cane with both hands, ready to use it to defend himself if necessary. Then he hears a crash from the other room, and Newt rushes into the hallway, panic in his eyes.

“I can’t find her,” he blurts out, before Hermann can inquire as to what’s happened.

“Who?”

“ _Zelda,_ ” Newt says, pained. “I can’t find her anywhere, I looked all over. Did you see her when you came in?”

“No, I—”

“I had the balcony door open for a bit, and forgot to close it when I went to take the laundry downstairs. When I came back, she was _gone_. What if she got out? What if…” He trails off and bites his lip, distressed.

As a rule, they've always made sure to only open the balcony door a couple of inches or so, as cats are notorious for being able to squeeze through small spaces, and Zelda is no exception. The other day, Hermann found her curled up in the sock drawer, and still doesn't know how she managed to get in there.

He walks over to the balcony, sliding the door open, and looks down, then up. They’re on the third floor, but it’s possible that she got out onto the fire escape, and made her way down from there, or up to one of the other balconies. If that’s the case, then surely she can’t have gone too far. Likewise, if she got out through the apartment door without Newt noticing, she could still be somewhere in the building. It would probably be faster to split up and search, but considering how upset Newt is, Hermann doesn't want to leave him. Since it's already evening, he quickly makes the decision to check inside first, so that they don't disturb their neighbours too late.

“It’s alright,” Hermann says, “we’ll go look for her.” He’s still got his jacket on, and Newt grabs his own, following Hermann out of the apartment. The building they live in has six floors, with a dozen apartments on each one. They go, floor by floor, and door to door, asking everyone if they’ve seen the cat. When that proves fruitless, they go outside, walking around the block, and calling out her name.

There's a tense moment when they spy a dark shape lying in the middle of the road—Newt's breath hitches as they approach it—but it turns out to be a plastic bag, likely swept away from someone's trash by the wind. Hermann pushes it aside with his cane, possibly a little more forceful than necessary.

After spending the better part of the evening searching around their neighbourhood, they’ve no choice but to give up and return home once it gets too dark.

Newt is devastated.

He collapses onto the couch as soon as they’re back in the apartment, head in his hands. “Fuck,” he swears, “I can’t do anything right. I can’t even take care of a _cat_ , and they mostly take care of _themselves_.”

Hermann sits down next to Newt, and tries to console him. “It was an accident. She survived outside on her own before, remember? I’m sure she’s fine.”

“But what if she’s _not_? What if she’s just gone?”

“We can always get another cat.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, Hermann realizes that it’s the wrong thing to say.

“I don’t want another—that’s not the _point_!” Newt explodes.

“I didn’t mean—”

"Whatever, it’s not like you even wanted her in the first place."

"Newton, that's not—"

“Forget it.” Newt stands abruptly. “I’m going to bed.” He storms off to their room, and slams the door shut behind him.

Hermann sighs. He knows that if he goes after Newt right now, it will only makes things worse. So he turns on the television, and attempts to find something to watch, but he’s too distracted to actually pay attention to anything. After a few minutes, he shuts it off and decides to tidy up a bit, as the apartment is still in quite a state—Newt was _very_ thorough in his search.

He picks up a cat toy that's half-hidden beneath the couch—that blasted pink rubber mouse. Rolling it over in his hands, he gives it light squeeze, making it squeak. He sighs again, a little sadder this time, and puts the toy away with the rest of Zelda's things.

When he's done, Hermann finally heads to bedroom.

Newt’s curled up on his side of the bed, facing away from him. He doesn’t react when Hermann lies down beside him, but Hermann knows that he’s awake, can hear him sniffling quietly in the dark. That’s another thing that’s changed. Newt used to do most things loudly, even crying—especially crying—but not anymore. Now, he cries the way that Hermann did when he was a child and didn’t want anyone else to hear him.

Hermann places a hand on Newt’s arm, rubbing it gently up and down. “I’m sorry, darling,” he murmurs, “I was being insensitive.”

After a few seconds, Newt rolls over to face him, and allows himself to be held. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I just...”

“It's alright,” Hermann says, pulling Newt closer to him. “We’ll go back out again first thing in the morning, I promise.”

Newt sniffs. “Okay.”

Neither of them get much sleep that night. Newt tosses and turns, worried about the cat, and Hermann lies staring at the ceiling, worried about Newt.

True to Hermann's word, they go out as soon as they’re up and continue the search, but to no avail. There just isn’t any trace of the cat anywhere.

Hermann calls the veterinary clinic they’d initially brought her to, as well as several shelters in the surrounding area, just in case, but no cats fitting her description have turned up at any of them. They hadn’t bought her a collar (Newt, in particular, had been very much against it), as they’d always planned on keeping her indoors and, while they’d updated the chip’s information, it doesn’t have any sort of GPS capabilities, so it will only be helpful if someone finds her and brings her to a clinic or shelter.

Joyce does suggest that, perhaps, the cat has tried to get back to her old home. Hermann gets the address from the vet, and they drive slowly around the neighbourhood, in case Zelda has made her way there.

Unfortunately, there's no sign of her.

As a last resort, they decide to check with the house's new owners, just in case. Standing on the front porch, Hermann rings the doorbell. Beside him, Newt clenches and unclenches his fists as they wait for an answer. Finally, the door swings open, and a young woman answers.

"Hi," she says uncertainly, looking from Hermann to Newt.

Hermann opens his mouth to explain the situation, but Newt beats him to it.

"Our cat used to live here," he blurts out. The woman blinks at him. "Have you seen her?"

"Um."

"She got out of our apartment, and we thought she might have tried to find her way back here," Hermann elaborates. Newt holds up a picture of Zelda on his phone.

The woman's expression softens. "I'm sorry, I haven't seen her."

Somewhere further inside the house, a dog barks loudly. If Zelda had returned here, Hermann imagines that the presence of a dog would surely have scared her off.

"If she turns up, can you let us know?" Newt asks. The woman nods, and Newt gives her both hisand Hermann's phone numbers.

"I hope you find her," the woman says, before closing the door.

"Yeah," Newt says in a small voice, "me too."

Dejected, they head back to the car.

"We _will_ find her," Hermann says, hoping that he sounds more confident than he feels. He thinks again about the dog he once had, and its unknown fate, and decides that it might be better to keep that story to himself.

Newt looks out anxiously at the overcast sky. “What if there’s another storm? She was so scared last time.”

Hermann tries not to picture the cat cowering somewhere in the rain. “She’ll be alright. She knows to hide.”

"Right." 

"Would you like me to drop you at home," Hermann asks, "or would you like to go somewhere else?"

"Huh?" Newt blinks. "Oh, right, you've got work..."

"I could cancel, if—"

"No, it's fine. Just... just take me home, please," he says, his voice breaking a little on the word 'home.'

Newt stares silently out the window the rest of the ride back.

Saturday morning, they do another round outside, with no luck. In the afternoon, Newt busies himself making ‘lost’ posters to put up around the neighbourhood. He's got dozens of photos of the cat on his phone, and once he finally decides which one to use, prints out a stack with their contact information on them.

He stuffs a roll of tape into his pocket, and holds up the posters. “I’m going to go put these up around the block,” he announces.

“Would you like me to help you?”

“Someone should stay here. In case she comes back.”

Hermann isn’t sure what the chances are of her finding her way back up to the third floor, but doesn't voice this thought. “Of course,” he says. “Do you think you'll be long? I'll be starting dinner soon.”

Newt shrugs. “Maybe half an hour, tops?”

"Alright."

Hermann tries to decide what he should make for dinner or, more specifically _attempt_ to make. He doesn't cook as often as Newt does, but could certainly do with more practice. However, he has a hard time concentrating, and keeps glancing at the clock instead.

Thirty minutes pass, and Newt still hasn’t returned. He hasn’t bothered to take his phone with him, either, so Hermann has no way to reach him.

It’s fine, Hermann tells himself. Newt's probably on his way back right now, and will come through the door at any moment.

It’s fine. He's _fine_.

At thirty-one minutes, Hermann grabs his jacket and his cane, and heads downstairs. The elevator ride down to the lobby is short, but still long enough for him to worry, to imagine all sorts of things. He is struck, suddenly, by the understanding that this must be how Newt feels about the cat being missing.

Then the elevator doors slide open, and he sees Newt sitting on the stairs leading up to the first floor. Hermann feels the tightness in his chest ease, replaced with a wave of relief.

Newt’s on the second-to-last step, the stack of posters—facedown, Hermann notes—still in his hands, gripping them tightly and staring straight ahead.

“Newton?” Hermann asks as he approaches.

Newt looks up at the sound of his name. There’s something else in his expression that Hermann can’t quite identify, but it vanishes quickly as Newt registers his presence. “Hermann? What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I...” he begins, then trails off, as if unsure how to answer.

“When did you get back?” Hermann tries instead.

Newt shakes his head, dropping his gaze. “I didn’t even make it out the door.”

Hermann frowns, then carefully lowers himself to sit beside him, resting his cane against the railing. It’s only then that he notices the trembling of Newt’s hands as they clutch the posters, the tightness of his jaw, how pale his face is. “What happened?”

“I don’t know, I just...it feels like everything I try to do, I fuck up. Like, I actually thought I was doing better, you know, like I might actually be okay again." He laughs humourlessly. "Or the closest to ‘okay’ I can be, I was pretty messed up before too, so—”

“Newton.”

Newt grips the posters tighter, staring down at his hands. “It’s my fault. I left the door open. Just like...”

“Just like what?”

“Like _before_ ,” he whispers. “I left the door open, and they got _in_. That first Drift was all they needed, and I—"

“Oh, darling...”

“I let her down, and I let _you_ down, and—”

“You have _not_ let me down,” Hermann says firmly, “nor her. You didn’t mean for either of those things to happen, and neither one was your fault.”

“You would think so, right?” Newt asks, the volume of his voice rising. “Like, I know, _objectively_ that that’s true, but it... it really doesn’t feel that way. Kind of funny what a decade of alien possession will do, huh?”

“There’s nothing funny about it,” Hermann says quietly.

“Yeah,” Newt lets out a slow, shaky breath, “I know.”

It's in moments such as these that Hermann truly feels powerless. He wishes that he could make everything better, that this was something he could solve as easily as one of the equations on his blackboards. But there isn’t an easy fix, he knows. There may not even be a ‘fix’ at all, just adjustment and adaptation. This is Newt’s new normal— _their_ new normal, because they are in this together, always.

Hermann gently takes the posters from Newt’s hands, and smooths them out where they’ve been slightly crumpled. “Come, let’s get these put up, shall we?”

He takes hold of his cane and stands, tucking the posters under one arm, and reaches his other hand down to Newt.

Newt stares up at him gratefully, and takes it.

The next few days are difficult, as Newt becomes more and more despondent. They haven't received any calls after putting up the posters, and he's beginning to lose hope. Hermann hasn’t seen him like this since the earliest days of their living together, after Newt had just been freed from the Precursors. He’s even too emotionally drained to cry about it anymore.

When he comes home to find Newt sitting in exactly the same spot as when he’d left that morning, Hermann cancels his classes for the rest of the week. He tries to distract Newt any way that he can, but nothing seems to work.

It’s like watching a wound reopening, one that had been carefully sutured shut, the stitches beginning to slowly come undone. Newt had been doing so well, and it tears Hermann up inside to see him like this—he wants so very much to help, but isn’t sure how, and worries that he’ll just say the wrong thing again.

“Perhaps you should call Dr. Lin,” Hermann suggests one evening. She’s been a great help since Newt’s been going to see her, and he and Hermann both have her number in case of emergencies. It isn’t exactly common practice among therapists but, seeing as Newt’s a special case, she’s encouraged him to reach out anytime he needs to talk.

“No, it’s fine,” Newt says. “Not... not for this. I’m okay, really.”

Hermann wants to believe him, and doesn't push the matter any further. "If you're sure..."

The smile Newt gives him isn't entirely convincing, but it's clear that he's trying. "I'm sure."

A couple of days later, Hermann is sitting at the table grading papers when he hears meowing coming from outside. At first, he thinks that he must be imagining it. Then he hears it again. Glancing over at the balcony, his eyes widen as he sees the cat sitting outside. "Newton!" he calls.

Newt, who's reading on the couch (trying to read, Hermann's pretty sure he's been on the same page for the past fifteen minutes or so), looks over, tosses the book onto the coffee table, and jumps to his feet.

“Oh, my God.” Newt hurries to slide the balcony door open and let her in. He drops to his knees as she enters, and pulls her into his arms. “I missed you so much.”

Zelda gently bumps her head against Newt's, and he laughs. Then the laughter turns into tears, and he buries his face in her fur, shaking. The cat meows in displeasure and Newt draws back, wiping his sleeve across his eyes. “Right, you don’t like to get wet, do you?” He smiles apologetically. “Sorry about that.”

Hermann moves to join them, and places a hand on Newt's shoulder. “Are you alright, dear?”

"I think so? I’m just, uh, having a lot of emotions right now.” Newt’s silent for a long while before adding, "I think... I think maybe I'll make that phone call, now."

Hermann hands Newt his phone, and Newt hands Hermann the cat, then goes into the bedroom to make the call.

Zelda makes herself comfortable on Hermann’s lap, kneading it a bit before settling down, and he reaches down to scratch behind her ears, a favorite spot of hers.

“You gave us quite a fright,” he tells her. He’d been more concerned about Newt throughout the whole ordeal, but Hermann realizes that he's missed her as well, more than he expected. She’s a part of their family now, and these past few weeks, Hermann has loved coming home to them both. "I'm glad you're back."

By the time Newt’s finished with his phone call, the cat has begun to doze off, and Hermann believes that he’s not too far behind. It’s not even that late, but they’ve all had a pretty eventful few days.

“Alright?” he asks, as Newt joins them on the couch.

“Yup,” Newt says, putting the phone down on the coffee table, “made an appointment for tomorrow morning.”

“That’s good.”

"Mm," Newt agrees. He lays his head on Hermann's shoulder, and Hermann puts an arm around him, the other hand still petting the cat, even though she’s almost certainly asleep by now.

Outside, he can see the wind picking up, rustling through the trees, and imagines that it must be getting cold. Inside, however, nestled together on the couch, the three of them are cozy and warm, and safe.

The leaves are changing color, and starting to fall, but they’ll come back again. They always do.

**Author's Note:**

> I think one of the reasons it took a while to write this, was that I was adamant about telling the story strictly from Hermann's POV. I figured that, if he didn't know what was going on in Newt's head, then neither would the reader. That does, however, make writing a recovery fic more difficult. I also considered incorporating Newt's abandonment issues into this fic as well, but didn't feel I was skilled enough as a writer to tackle both that and his recovery at the same time (plus, I can only write so much angst at once). I may write a companion piece or sequel from Newt's POV at some point, though. I'd like to write another fic with Zelda in it, because I love her <3
> 
>  **PSA:** I have a friend who used to work at a vet clinic, and unfortunately it really is common for people to abandon their pets when they move, which absolutely breaks my heart. If, for whatever reason, you're unable to take care of a pet any longer, _please_ try and find a new home for it or bring it to a shelter!
> 
> As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated :) You can also find me on Tumblr @chalkstardust


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